


Late

by flootzavut



Series: Leather [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Kibbs, Leather, Motorcycles, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"... ever since her first bad-boy boyfriend in high school, she's had a weakness for sleek, black motorcycles and their riders..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixRising360](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixRising360/gifts).



> for conversations about Gibbs in leather :D ❤️

* * *

_**Late** _

* * *

 

She notices the bike first, as it sweeps past her into the parking lot.

She's not really into cars, they're just a convenient way to get from point A to point B and back again, but ever since her first bad-boy boyfriend in high school, she's had a weakness for sleek, black motorcycles and their riders. She's never had the time to sit down and learn the nuances, but she knows enough to see and hear it's no scooter. It's a powerful machine, the kind of bike to be driven on the edges of safety. Exactly the kind she likes. If she weren't already late, she'd be tempted to go flirt with the rider, maybe coax a ride or even a date out of him if he's remotely attractive.

As it is, she may not have time to flirt, not unless she wants Gibbs to growl at her (and not in the fun way), but she can't help standing and watching as the man parks. He dismounts with no small amount of ease and grace, and she half wishes she had a business card to hand so she could run over and slip it into the back pocket of his pants. Even from this distance, she can see he's tall, broad, and wears the leather well. An excuse to go grab his butt as she palmed him her number wouldn't be a bad thing.

Leather and motorbikes bring out her long-neglected bad girl, and right now she's struggling to think of a good reason why she shouldn't just go 'screw it' and be a little later to her desk. She's already late; a handful of backside would  _really_  improve her morning.

He turns his head, sees her watching, and doesn't turn away. She smiles and shrugs a shoulder. "Nice bike," she calls over. Given the location, and knowing her luck, she just about resists the temptation to add 'Nice ass.'

Slowly, he removes his helmet, and Kate gulps, her smile turning into a shocked gape as she watches him brush a hand through salt and pepper hair. She almost doesn't believe the evidence of her own eyes. Despite herself, she's walking toward him, as if to check she's seeing what she thinks she's seeing.

Or maybe because Gibbs in leather? Is just that irresistible.

Closer to, she can see his biking gear is how just she would've imagined it, if she'd ever imagined such a thing. A beat up jacket, pants that have seen better days. If she's honest, it does absolutely nothing to detract from the overall effect. Gibbs has always been kinda scruffy, and she's always kinda liked it. Scruffy in leather just hits all kinds of buttons for her, and he already hits far too many of her damn buttons on a regular basis.

"Like what you see, Kate?"

Does he make his voice do that low grumbly thing on purpose?

She swallows hard. "Uh." She's pretty sure her eyes are like saucers. Part of her is wishing the ground would swallow her up. The other part is wishing she'd complimented him on his ass while he was an anonymous figure in black leather. Because flirting with a leather-clad Gibbs seems like a rare opportunity, and now she knows it's him, she's not sure she can breathe deep enough for an actual sentence.

He turns slightly, lays his hand on the bike, doesn't quite smirk, and it's only then that she realises he's tricked her. They both know it's him she's suddenly speechless over, no matter how shiny and impressive his bike is.

"Renovated her myself. She's a beauty."

Kate nods. "Yeah." She wonders exactly how out of line it would be to ask him to take her for a spin.

(And then do her on the seat while the engine cools down.)

"Like motorbikes, huh?"

"Yeah." One syllable at a time is all she can manage.

His eyebrows scoot toward his hairline. Apparently her being interested in motorcycles surprises him. Probably not as much as biker-dude-Gibbs has surprised  _her_ , but at least a little.

Or... maybe it's more how she's suddenly lost all her vocabulary.

He laughs softly, her attention is drawn back to him, and she notices his hair is kind of sticking up from the helmet and the casual brush of his hand. For some reason, it plucks at something deep in her belly, and she badly wants to mess it up some more. (While pulling his mouth down to hers and kissing him stupid.)

She blinks a few times, and he gives her one of those knowing grins, the kind of grin that makes her think he sees far too much, and that her secret little crush is actually more like a huge neon sign floating above her head.

His eyes roam over her face. "You all right, Katie?" He's mostly being cheeky still, but he's also leaning in and studying her as if he's not sure whether she's entirely okay.

Oh,  _Lord_. It's just not fair.

Gibbs calling her Katie, Gibbs showing any kind of concern for her, and Gibbs doing  _that_   _voice_  are all things she finds near impossible to deal with. Gibbs doing all those things at once while dressed in well-worn leather? She's fairly sure she's never done anything bad enough to warrant this kind of torture. It's cruel and unusual punishment.

She can smell the heat of the bike, the rich warm scent of leather, and beneath it all the coffee-bourbon-wood combination she could pick out of a lineup blindfold, and which sets off an involuntary chain reaction that makes her want to sit on his face.

"I-"

He searches her expression a moment more, then cocks an eyebrow, his smile widening into a smirk. "You better get goin'. Don't want you to be late, do we?" He looks mightily pleased by her reaction, his eyes crinkling with amusement and mischief.

Something about it makes her brave. "Well, my boss is kind of an asshole." She tilts her head up challengingly. "Maybe I'd rather be late." She's not  _quite_  brave enough to add 'and flirt with you instead', though she has a suspicion Gibbs will put two and two together.

He chuckles, steps in closer. "Wouldn't want ya to get in trouble on my account," he murmurs. Apparently being indirectly told he's an asshole is not enough to put him off, which she finds not remotely surprising. (This is Gibbs, after all. As far as he's concerned, it probably counts as flirting. And in this situation, he wouldn't be wrong.) He drinks her in as if he's suddenly very interested in her mouth and the exact colour of her eyes.

She swallows, tries to stand her ground. "Bit late for that."

"Yeah?" His intrusion into her personal bubble, the way his voice has gotten softer and warmer, makes her heart beat faster. "You already in trouble, Katie?"

 _Oh, God_. She only meant she was already  _late_ , but now... now, she's  _definitely_  in trouble. All kinds of trouble. "Um."

"Maybe if you're not  _too_  late for work, your boss'll take you for a spin on his motorcycle after," he breathes.

She swallows again. He's so close now. Gibbs offering a ride on his bike is many times more personal than she ever dared hope he'd get, but it's his eyes that make her mouth go dry and her body melt. Dark, smouldering, wanting. Maybe convincing him to press her up against his bike and have his way with her isn't so far-fetched after all.

"I'd like that," she whispers.

Another grin, this one melting slowly, deliciously over his face as he looks down at her with what she's tempted to label as desire, or even hunger. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She sounds exactly as overwhelmed and flustered as she feels. She can't quite hold his gaze any more, although she can't bring herself to move out of his space, either. She half turns away, but can't hide her grin.

He chuckles again, then thwaps her butt with the back of his hand. She jumps, lets out a surprised squeak. "Go on, get goin'," he rumbles. "'Fore you make us  _both_  late."

Between his hand on her ass and the implication she has any power at all to distract him, she's embarrassed and pleased and hopeful and not a little aroused. "Okay."

Not trusting herself to say anything else, and painfully aware she's all but panting, she scurries away, only giving in to the temptation to glance back when her hand is on the door.

He's standing there, watching her, still smiling that covetous smile. He shakes his head, chuckles, makes a shooing motion, and she feels her cheeks flush pink even as she turns to go indoors.

It's going to be a long, long day, but the scent of leather and coffee hangs around her all the way to her desk. When Gibbs appears a few minutes later, changed into clothes more suited for a day of work, she half wonders if she imagined it all. But the glance he shoots her is scorching hot and full of promise. She flushes again, and grins to herself.

She's never been so grateful to be late.

_~ fin ~_


End file.
